


So Many Ways to Explain It

by Evilawyer



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Gen, added scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilawyer/pseuds/Evilawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of a friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Many Ways to Explain It

When Sam drops him off at the lobby of the hotel he's been staying at while he's been in London, Foyle is not at all surprised to find Hilda sitting in the lobby. A tea tray sits on the low table before her, two cups at the ready.

“Tea?” Hilda does not wait for his answer before she begins to pour milk into her cup.

Foyle takes off his hat. “Do I have a choice?”

“Of course. You can order a coffee,” Hilda says as pours out the tea, first into the cup nearest Foyle, then into hers. “I expect you tried coffee during your visit to America.” She pushes Foyle's cup closer to him. “Perhaps you might yet acquire a taste for it.” 

The short beat that follows tells Hilda that her point has been taken. 

“Is that a threat, Miss Pierce?”

Hilda returns his hooded, cold gaze with a small, tight smile. “I think we both know that you've significantly compromised my ability to pose a threat to anyone, Mr. Foyle.”

Foyle looks down and gives a small, wry, grimace of a smile. “Not for long, I'm sure.”

“Let's hope you're right.” Hilda spoons sugar into her tea. “What will you do?”

“I hadn't thought.”

Hilda lifts her cup and saucer. “How unlike you.” 

Foyle puts his hat on the low table that separates Hilda and him. “What will happen to Valentine?

“Valentine?” Hilda sips her tea. “I'm sure Valentine will be quite content in his new job with the Americans. Quite probably overseeing the care and handling of the American's recently acquired intelligence asset, Karl Stasser.”

Foyle never looks stunned, but Hilda sees a glimmer of surprise on his face as he asks, “Strasser?”

“You didn't think the Americans were really going to execute or imprison him for war crimes, did you? Their intention is and always will be to emasculate the British secret services. They're don't want justice. They want to make us their hunting dogs and keep all the game to themselves.”

At Foyle's silence, she continues, “For what it's worth, I'm sorry.”

“Why?” Foyle's voice is crisp and short; it radiates disapproval.

So many ways to explain it. _Because I shielded a Nazi. Because I accept that the ends justify the means. Because I put duty to the Service above all else. Because I backed you into a position where you felt it necessary to choose between that duty and your conscience._ Hilda has no doubt that Foyle will hear all of these explanations in the words she settles on. “Because I did my job.”

Foyle gives her a cold, assessing look before sitting down on the edge of the chair across the low table from her. “Is it really me you should be apologizing to?”

“There's no one else who'd be interested.” Hilda takes a sip of tea. “This world wants results, Mr. Foyle. It isn't interested in apologies, only winning.” 

Foyle keeps his eyes trained on the cup and saucer in front of him rather than spare a glance in Hilda's direction. “You must take the very cynical view of looking on all people as enemies rather than friends.”

Hilda lowers her cup and saucer to her lap. “Having friends in this business is a difficult thing to accomplish. I have fewer than most. Far fewer than Valentine. If he's discrete enough, a man like Valentine can visit establishments euphemistically called 'gentlemen's clubs' and not become a target. That's not a road open to women like me. I've learned to be very cautious in my life and in my work. I don't trust easily, and when I do I like to think that I can call the person I trust a friend. When I disappoint friends, Christopher, I apologize to them.” 

Foyle says nothing. 

For one, gut-wrenching moment, Hilda thinks she's miscalculated very badly indeed. She may trust Foyle, but that's not to say that he'll safeguard that trust. He has, after all, as much as said that he doesn't trust her. She mentally begins cataloging the dangers she now has to guard against because of her now obvious lack of judgment. Still, it's so rare that she would lay herself so fully open and be so fully wrong about the safety of doing so. She decides to make one effort to assess the impact of her indiscretion. If Foyle balks, she will have to add one more person to the ranks of her enemies. She's done that before, many times. She's gotten used to it. This time, though, she'll regret having to do it. “May I call you Christopher?”

The look on Foyle's face is almost quizzical, but he doesn't hesitate for an instant. “I never said you couldn't.” 

“Feel free to call me Hilda if you like,” she responds. “Christopher.”

Foyle lifts his cup and saucer and settles back in his chair. “Thanks for the tea, Hilda.”


End file.
